


Not really made from the same cloth but from the same blueprints

by DualExistence



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amélie is brought back to safety, Gen, Human Experience, Human Experimentation, I have my personal idea on what is going on but I won't go into detail in this story, Post-Recall Overwatch, Psychology, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Widow fucks of Talon basically, my interpretation of sociopathic Genji is back, reclaiming humanity, the story takes place approximately 3-4 years after Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualExistence/pseuds/DualExistence
Summary: A few years after Overwatch's recall, the organisation is back on its feet. Amélie Lacroix, formerly known as Widowmaker, has been rescued by its agents and her brainwashing removed. However, something did not return - she is completely removed from any emotional experience. Amélie needs to figure out how to learn to live like this and after talking to her friend Angela Ziegler about it, the doctor thinks she may know someone who could help her finding peace with it.Inspired by shower thoughts and a very long conversation withMelabout Genji's psyche and how awfully similar parallels exist between him and Widowmaker.They drewthis amazing artof the two 'living weapons' after our conversation and I am really happy to have inspired them. As a result, I wrote this story. Dedicated to Mel, of course. <3I hope you enjoy. :)





	Not really made from the same cloth but from the same blueprints

The clean white of the corridors Dr Ziegler led her through were so bright, she had to squint for her eyes to not tear up.   
All of her recovery processes so far had been a success; her heart rate had turned back to normal, the blue tint of her skin had almost vanished, she could breathe without issues now, walk without crutches after having to rely on them for over two months.

Her eyesight though, it was damaged. Glasses did help, but Dr Ziegler had informed her about getting a possible surgery – maybe even with a cybernetic upgrade – to reduce the damage, but she declined politely.   
There was nothing she could have been more grateful for; being surrounded by people who helped her everywhere they could to bring her back to life.  


But there was something that she still struggled with: while the brainwashing was gone and her body stabilised, something did not return.

Amélie Lacroix’s new reality experienced no emotion.

 

“The genetic experiments that had been done to you, Mrs Lacroix”, as the psychologists and doctors in the medical ward explained to her a few weeks before, “they have changed your brain and this, unfortunately, is irreversible.”  
Or at least, not reversible without Amélie suffering a brain haemorrhage in the process, they said.

The news of it left her cold – of course, her brain had been altered to not process those feelings anymore.   
But something within her told her that this was wrong, and she had trouble figuring out how to cope with the sheer fact that she knew how to feel but couldn’t.

She had talked with Dr Ziegler about it. With her psychologist and psychiatrist.   
But no medication they prescribed helped, no therapy.   
Amélie was told that she had to deal with it.   
  
But that was easier said than done.   


*

  
Until the night before, when Amélie talked to Dr Ziegler – _Angela_ – in private about it again, where they were friends, not a doctor talking to her patient.   
Angela bit her lower lip, her glance wandered out of the window next to Amélie’s bedside, the moonshine illuminating the dark room in a gentle white light.   
“Perhaps I know who you could talk to,” she said, but her voice had a slightly anxious subtone.   
“Who are you thinking of, Angela?” Amélie asked.   
“A… _friend_ of mine… He went through something similar, and I think you two talking about it could help you figure things out.”

 

* 

  
Dr Ziegler opened the door for Amélie to enter another one of the rooms the psychologists of the medical department used for their appointments with agents stationed on the base.  
It was a nicely decorated room, with walls painted in warm orange and a soft carpet ground, a big couch and an armchair standing around a glass table in the middle, bookshelves along the walls and a desk with a hard light computer on the side.   
  
She told Amélie to take a seat on the couch, then asked her if she wanted anything to eat or drink while waiting for her _friend_ to arrive.   
Amélie shook her head, forced a smile onto her lips and thanked her. The doctor knew it wasn’t genuine, but she understood, wished her good luck and left the room.   
  
The sudden silence weighed on her heavily, but the lack of emotional response made her wonder. In the past, she would have felt nervous. Anxious even. None of that reached her now and she crossed her legs, looked in direction of the window behind the desk. Curtains in a warm yellow made the light shining through them less aggressive for her eyes.  
  
Amélie did not realise that she had lost herself in her own thoughts until the clicking noise of the door opening pushed her back to the here and now.   
Her eyes turned away from the window – she expected another psychologist to enter the room, someone who wasn’t working for Overwatch but was an old colleague from Angela’s work abroad – but the man was nothing like that. Not even remotely.  
  
He closed the door behind himself with a gentle push of his cybernetic hand, then approached the sitting corner she had been waiting at with featherlight steps, inaudible for the human ear.   
  
The cyborg didn’t suit this place. He was standing out against the professional atmosphere of the room; wearing a slightly oversized black hoodie with something Japanese written on it and the neon green lights of his body shining through the fabrics and grey jeans over the quite muscular artificial legs and no shoes – he didn’t need any after all – dark hair fell into his face that he covered with a metallic mask, with only his grey eyes being visible.

Amélie didn’t understand. Of all people, why did Angela sent _him_?

  
“May I sit with you?” Genji asked, hands in the pocket of his hoodie.   
Amélie nodded.   
  
He took a seat on the armchair next to her, giving her enough personal space like that.   
There was an awkward silence between them, which Amélie broke by putting her confusion into words: “I have to admit that I am confused why of all people, you are being sent to talk to me,” she began and adjusted her glasses a bit.   
“I had not much contact with anyone from… _the past_ besides Angela, _euh_ , Dr Ziegler.”   
  
“I was part of the team that extracted you from Talon,” Genji replied, his voice had no particular tone, almost sounded like he was giving a lecture to someone.   
“None of the other agents involved in that mission were agents in the former Overwatch. And… I don’t remember having any particular relationship with you before then, so I thought it would be inappropriate to visit. As far as I know, people were also advised against it.”   
  
There was a short silence between them.  
“Because of… _this_?” Amélie asked. She pointed at herself.

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes not meeting hers. He leaned back in the armchair and rolled up his sleeves, revealing an artificial left underarm and a scarred one that was partially enhanced as well.   
“The reason why Angela asked me to talk to you is that she thinks I might be able to help you regarding… _that_.” He pointed at his head with his index finger.   
  
Amélie nodded in slow motion. She couldn’t quite grasp why Genji was able to help her with this; she barely knew him. They barely knew _each other_.   
  
As she did not reply, the cyborg continued to speak: “We have been both turned into living weapons against our will. Or, as in my case, without being given another choice. I think Angela believes that we can relate to each other. But… I think she meant more than the mutual experience of being a weapon in human form.”   
  
That made sense.  
  
Of her vague memories of the time where she was with Gérard together at the former Swiss Headquarters, she remembered of having encountered Genji Shimada only a few times.   
  
A man who barely escaped death, thanks to Overwatch turning him into a cyborg. He was always taciturn but his glare could have killed hundreds of people at once, he showed no emotion or care for the things around him. All he did was following Blackwatch Commander Reyes’ orders, without complaint or questions asked.   
  
Now that Amélie thought of it, the awful similarities between the two of them were so clear, it almost burned into her inner eye.   
  
The Widowmaker was Talon’s answer to Blackwatch’s superhuman experiment.  
  
_Not really made from the same cloth but from the same blueprints._  
  
“I have found peace with my body, but there is irreversible damage regardless. I suppose you know what I am talking about… The lack of feelings, right?” he continued.   
  
The words hit Amélie like a gunshot, she could feel adrenaline hitting her chest – but the lack of emotion kept her in ever so calm peace and it disappeared as fast as it boiled up inside her.  
  
“You are right,” she confirmed. “There is… I have returned physically back to normal, with some minor damage to my eyes and the stress I can take, but I still don’t feel. They say it cannot be reversed and… I know how I should feel in this situation, but I do not. There is… absolutely nothing. And I don’t know what I should think about it. I keep asking myself if this is… still human.”   
  
Genji nodded, resting his chin on the cybernetic hand.   
  
“Do you think it would be better to feel again?” he asked.  
  
The question hit Amélie off guard. She hadn’t thought about it that way. Only about what she _should_ feel, but not the way Genji said it.   
Giving the lack of a concrete answer, she hesitated to reply first – then realised yet again how she barely knew Genji, but he apparently knew her, or at least a bit.   
  
“Do _you_ feel anything, Genji?”   
  
The question was poorly thought out. Insensitive, invasive. Not something her former self, the person she was before Widowmaker, would have asked.   
  
Genji shrugged, seemingly not bothered at all by the bluntness.   
  
“That is a good question,” he began, his glance turning back to Amélie.   
“Ask someone outside of the small circle who know me truly – and I can count those on a single hand, not even my own brother does count into that – they will confirm it. They describe me as empathetic and caring, someone so compassionate because of all the suffering I went through. Kind, humble, non-judgmental. Someone like me must have feelings and empathy; to be a good person it requires those, right? Someone without them, that would be labelled a monster.”  
His tone was very convincing, that he was speaking with honesty but Amélie knew that everything about it was off.  
  
“Now ask yourself: Where am I lying and where am I telling you the truth?” he added after a short while of silence.   
  
The faint memory of her former self would have reacted confused. Irritated at the added question.   
  
But the new Amélie showed no reaction, nothing in her moved as she returned Genji’s glance, and she chuckled as she answered him.  
“All of it. Their perception of you is completely wrong.”  
The things he said, they were weirdly amusing to her.  
  
“Almost correct,” he laughed, but it was a short laugh that quickly died, his voice turning serious as he continued to speak.   
“It’s… inconsistent. Sometimes I truly feel all of this. There are sparks of empathy or guilt or anxiety. But mostly I am just unmoved, content even. And… _あの_ … given that Overwatch didn’t do anything to my brain, we may have different experiences regarding this.”

  
“Is it inappropriate to ask why?” Amélie replied, trying to give her voice a careful tone but it didn’t sound as convincing as she wished for.   
  
Genji showed no sign of discomfort, but something told Amélie that she walked on thin ice with personal questions. The memory of a younger Genji flashed before her eyes, how people who even acknowledged the cyborg’s presence were receiving murderous glances from him as if their sole existence alone was understood from him as a personal attack.  
  
He blinked for a moment, let out a sigh against the metal plate that covered the majority of his face before he answered: “I wouldn’t have agreed to this conversation with you if I wasn’t prepared to answer those questions. My past is something I do not really like talking about, but if it helps you, then I will.”   
Genji’s voice was calm, but Amélie could listen to the firmness between the lines, the boundaries he was setting.   
  
“I think it would,” she said. “I vaguely remember how things were supposed to feel like. It seems like I am only a shadow of my former self now.”  
  
There was no emotion – nor did she feel guilty for asking such sensitive things from a man she barely knew; curiosity was driving her more than a more appropriate reservation. It was surreal, seeing herself acting like this while she was fully conscious of it – as if someone else was in place of her sitting in the room. But Amélie couldn’t compare it to the out-of-body experience she lived through the years of brainwashing caused by Talon’s hands.  
  
This was her now. It would still take her quite some time to accept herself like this though.  
  
Genji tapped with the fingers of his free hand in a slow rhythm on the glass table in front of them, apparently thinking about how he could describe those things in the most uncomplicated way possible. He stopped eventually and started to tell Amélie his story:  
  
“Unlike in your case, my lack of emotional experience isn’t the fault of some genetic experiment. My inability to experience feelings nor empathy was born from growing up in an environment that was an absolute horror.”   
  
He took a deep breath and readjusted himself in the armchair.  
  
“A Yakuza clan like my family’s wasn’t the most nurturing place to raise a child. While my father tried his best to protect me, he couldn’t always be around because of his business. And… my mother was perfectly capable of hiding all the physical and emotional abuse from him. I was never good enough in the clan’s eyes, they even tried to get rid of me… multiple times. But I resisted,” he continued to explain.   
  
“The human nature wants us to survive, so the brain takes measures to make sure we do. Most people react to traumatic things like those I lived with anxiety disorders or depression… but my brain decided to limit the access to attachment, empathy and dependence on others because they were constantly used as weapons against me. At least, this is what the psychologists here told me when I finally agreed to get a proper diagnosis and uh… _treatment_ as far that was possible.”   
  
Genji took a pause, he looked over to the bookshelves, as if there were the hidden answers to his psyche being so different from that of others.  
“I assume that Overwatch saw an opportunity in me because I don’t think they just made me a cyborg for my sole survival alone, investing millions of dollars in me without a particular reason. After all, I was a problematic and dangerous ex-criminal with serious behavioural issues. Overwatch _knew_ I wasn’t normal. They knew that… I’d make the perfect candidate for this cruel experiment. Because of my nature. They didn’t see me as human. They saw a monster and decided to tweak my body a little bit to fit my true nature.”   
  
Those words had something bitter, but Genji didn’t give them that tone. He sounded indifferent, casual as if he was talking about the weather.   
Amélie concluded that Genji _really_ had the same emotional experience as hers, the utter indifference to all those things that had an ugly reality. Fear-inducing and cruel, yet it didn’t move anything in either of them.   
“I suppose that Talon found inspiration in that,” Genji added. “When Blackwatch became known to the public, hell broke loose. And we both know who took that inspiration and created Widowmaker.”   
  
Amélie sighed softly, pushed her glasses back with a tip of her finger and gave their common thought a name: “Moira.”   
  
Genji nodded. “Moira had access to Angela’s files, so of course she found the first evaluation they did on my psychological state. I didn’t have a proper diagnosis back then but they filed me as anti-social. A weaponised cyborg is one thing – but a weaponised cyborg who doesn’t experience remorse, guilt, fear or sadness and does atrocious things on command because he needs the adrenaline rushes that dangerous and reckless actions give him to not go insane from the constant boredom... Let’s be real, they’d be superior.”   
  
Amélie hummed at that. She remembered how it _felt_ when she killed all those people, one after another. The adrenaline that rushed through her undead body, making her feel alive.    
  
“I understand what you mean. It was the death of others through my hand that gave me some sense of existence.”, she replied, her gaze focused on the glass table in front of her legs.   
“But you seem different now,” she added after a pause. “You aren’t just a killer anymore.”   
  
Genji looked over his shoulder to check the door, apparently to make sure that no one would interrupt them by walking into the room. Angela certainly took care of the two not getting disturbed while having this conversation, but one was always better safe than sorry.   
  
His hands touched the face plate along the height of his cheekbones and with a clicking noise, the metal went off.   
He put the plate carefully onto the table in front of them and took a deep breath before he dared to look up, revealing his face to Amélie.   
  
“The honest question I keep asking myself until this day is if I really am _that_ different,” he disclosed, voice now clear and deep, without the synthetic noise altering it.   
  
His face was scarred. Tiny white cuts all over his cheeks, nose and lips, drawing little lines between his facial hair – having seen Genji unmasked now only intrigued Amélie even more.   
  
“With exception of two people, everyone assumes that I hide my face because I think of myself as ugly,” he explained. “But the reality is that I do not want people to be scared of me anymore.”   
He tapped on the mask with a finger.   
Amélie looked at him. Genji’s face showed no emotion either; he seemed completely indifferent, unmoved, ice-cold, but his eyes were ever so piercing, now that she saw the whole reality behind the mask.  
  
“It is a metaphor. Your mask,” she finished Genji’s explanation.   
  
“Precisely.” He seemed to contemplate if he should put it back on but then decided against it with a huff.   
“People get incredibly uncomfortable when they cannot read someone. They say that the eyes are the door to someone’s soul or some bullshit like that. But they cannot read me – _us_. And I just want to save myself from the unnecessary hassle of having to deal with their illogical fears and accusations because of that. Keeping up such a façade is incredibly exhausting and I had enough of pretending to be someone that I am not. I am tired of being denied my humanity. It is easier that way.”   
  
His words sounded almost angry.   
  
Genji looked down on the faceplate, then back to Amélie.  
  
“Trust me when I say that I fought with myself for a long time, asking myself if my lack of feelings is a curse and that this cyborg body was given to me to expose the monster hiding behind human flesh.”  
  
He paused, his face still unmoved. Genji was _impossible_ to be read, Amélie figured. She wondered if people would perceive her the same way as she perceived him. Mysterious, cold, uncaring.  
  
Genji continued to speak, his voice had become a little intense:  
“Yes, I resented Overwatch for this. I resented my brother for this. But I am over it. The sole difference between my past and my present self is my self-awareness. Zenyatta really helped me to accept myself as who I am and learn to use those anti-social traits for good, instead of doubting my place in this world. And I learned to forgive. The truth is, I am just like that because I wanted to survive. No one can take me that, because it is the core of human nature. And your brain has been altered to be the same, though for different purposes.”  
  
Amélie rested her chin on the back of her hand, leaning back into the couch. She honestly thought about it. Genji telling her all those things she could relate to gave her some sort of confidence that the lack of those wasn’t so bad after all – she wasn’t alone in this. Not that she experienced a lack of self-esteem, it was actually the opposite case – but she asked herself if this self-esteem had a right to be there in the first place.  
  
She thought about the people she killed. The people who hated her for those deaths. She tried to imagine how many people hated Genji for the deaths and the suffering he caused to others. How both of them were murderers but neither of them felt any remorse for those deaths. In theory, she should feel guilty. In reality, she was indifferent.   
  
Then she remembered the Omnic monk she murdered back in King’s Row. Tracer’s pained expression, close to tears, as she pulled on Widowmaker’s collar, asking why she did this. And Widowmaker just chuckled at how pathetic it sounded.   
That monk – Tekhartha Mondatta – was a friend of Zenyatta, Genji’s master, if she remembered correctly.   
And Genji expressed no anger or disgust towards her. Now that she knew of his psyche was the same, she really wondered if he was even capable of hatred.   
  
“I should feel guilty for so many things but I do not. Now that we have been talking about this, I wonder if I even _want_ to feel guilty… counting all those deaths, I don’t know if after such a long time of complete lack of emotion I would be able to process these feelings without causing myself incredible harm.”  
Her voice was quiet. The realisation was _horrific_. Amélie remembered how her past self, the ballet dancer, an innocent young married woman, would have felt about it. The utter indifference now seemed like a blessing to her psyche’s safety.   
  
“What I am saying is, it is better to not feel than dying because you feel too much,” Genji concluded, his voice had gone soft.   
  
“You are a survivor. _We are_. Our brains are protecting us by not letting those feelings happen, and there is nothing more human about us than exactly this inability. Society might not be able to wrap their head around it, but we aren’t any lesser than them. It took me almost a decade to accept this and my teacher was an Omnic, of all things.”  
  
“I killed Mondatta,” Amélie interrupted him. It struck the air in the room like a thunderbolt. “I killed one of those who saved you.”  
She expected something to happen. For Genji to get angry. But he was unmoved, just like her. For a while.  
  
A moment of silence passed before Genji sighed and got up from the chair. He walked around the table, kept standing there for a moment before he sat down next to Amélie this time. A moment of hesitation followed before he put a hand on her shoulder, making her look directly into his eyes as he spoke:  
“Death is a part of life. Even for Omnics; when there is a beginning, there is an end. Nothing is eternal. I might have been angry at you, might have despised you – but I knew already what Widowmaker is. That was _not_ you. It was Talon who killed Mondatta. Both Zenyatta and I are aware of that, and if you want to be forgiven, I do forgive you – but I do not forgive Talon.”   
  
Amélie stared at him – his eyes had such an intense aura that she never saw in someone before. It was hard to look away, though it was perhaps scary to someone other than them. All she thought of was that it had something fascinating; Genji was radiating pure danger without the facemask and it made Amélie feel adrenaline shooting through her veins.  
  
“I did not ask for your forgiveness,” she answered, her voice a little agitated from the hormone. “But thank you.”   
  
Genji shrugged lightly, then turned his glance away. “People do not have to forgive us for the atrocities we committed. But you need to forgive yourself. I see that you are self-aware and that is the first step for you to learn how to live like this.”  
  
Amélie nodded. “Yes… that makes sense. Am I allowed to ask you something more?”   
  
“Go ahead.”   
  
For a moment she hesitated, still trying to put the right words together before asking: “Why do you still kill?”   
  
To her surprise, it made Genji chuckle.   
  
“I never liked being labelled as evil, even though my nature aligns with it from society’s worldview. I figured out that my inability to feel makes me invulnerable to the atrocities happening in this never-ending conflict between humans and Omnics, and if I can save someone else from the duty to kill the bad guys, I’ll gladly do it.”  
He shrugged and there was a faint smile visible on his scarred lips.   
  
“It might sound heroic because I save someone from the traumatising effects that even the best soldier will suffer from after they retire from the battlefield, but the reality is that it is pure self-interest. I get my adrenaline kicks frequently, and besides, with this body, I can hardly do an office job. Society is not ready to accept cyborgs yet when they still try to deny Omnic’s their rights. But I will fight for it. An Omnic saved me from spiralling into insanity.”  
  
Amélie was intrigued, his words were pure honesty and described him as morally questionable, but good at heart. This man had such a gentle soul, while he still laughed at the topic of killing people. It was such an extreme dual existence of two polar opposites within one person.   
  
“ _Cornélien_ ,” she hummed. “You are doing good things while still being the bad guy, hm?”   
  
“Something like that,” Genji laughed. “The world doesn’t consist only of black and white and I refuse to be labelled either of those. I am both and neither. I have reached my higher humanity by learning this and reclaimed ‘monster’ for myself. It is not a negative descriptor anymore. It is just me.”  
  
He leaned back into the couch and stretched his arms, making a soft noise behind closed lips.   
“But I am not asking you to do the same. You do not owe anyone. Perhaps the best for you would be to remove yourself entirely from this war, Overwatch and politics. Not all of us are born to kill. I was – you weren’t.”  
  
Amélie nodded. She wasn’t exactly sure what else to say – things just made sense now. The inner conflict she had to battle within the past months started to slowly dissolve.   
  
If Genji could find peace with himself, so she could as well.   
The conversation with him had opened her eyes.  
  
Amélie was still human – even without feelings.   
The lack of emotion protected her from the severe trauma she went through, wishing them back like she originally thought of seemed now plainly stupid and reeked of self-sabotage.   
It was better this way, and she would learn to use it to her advantage.   
  
If Genji was able to reclaim the term _monster_ for himself as something good, so she could reclaim that as well.

Amélie thanked him for the conversation and Genji welcomed it with a bow in the traditional Japanese manner.   
He put the faceplate back on before they both left the room. As the door closed behind them, Genji excused himself and hurried away, telling her that he would get back to her soon but had to leave for another briefing for now and he was running late.  
Amélie waved at him, then went to get back to see Angela for another check-up.

  
*

 

The days after their long conversation passed really quickly.  
Amélie was discharged from the medical department and allowed to freely move within the Headquarters, still trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her reclaimed life.  
  
While walking through the halls and encountering former friends who were happy to see her being healthy again, she found herself looking for Genji.   
When she asked, Lena told her that he had left for a mission abroad and it was uncertain how long it would take for him and his team to return.   
The curious young woman asked Amélie why she wanted to see him, unaware of the relationship that had formed between them.   
Amélie decided to lie – it was an unspoken agreement between the two that they kept their conversation a secret that only Angela knew of.   
“I heard that he was the one who rescued me from Talon’s hands and I wanted to thank him,” she told Lena.   
“Oh… Well, if I catch him when he returns, I will tell him to find you!” the younger woman chirped.  
Amélie gave her a smile. It wasn’t genuine, but it seemed believable enough for Lena to return it.    
  
Faking her emotions was easier than explaining her reality. Genji taught her indirectly that by explaining his mask, and Amélie was surprised how little effort was needed for people to perceive her as simply normal.  
  
  
  
A few more days had passed when Winston called for Amélie to his workshop. The gorilla, de facto leader of the new Overwatch, handed her a hard-light tablet when she asked why he wanted to see her.  
  
“A message for you,” he explained with a smile. “Athena was confused why one of our agents would send a message to an archived E-Mail, but I told her to keep it.”   
“ _Merci_ ,” Amélie replied softly to the computer screen next to them and the AI welcomed her in French.  
  
  
_Amélie-san,  
  
Unfortunately, I had to leave the base ASAP after our conversation and I want to apologise for my abrupt disappearance. Gérard-san’s archived mail address was the only way to contact you, so I hope Athena doesn’t get irritated by me addressing it and accidentally deletes it._

 _I wanted to say that I honestly enjoyed talking to you because it was a really rewarding experience. My master has invested a lot of energy into getting me to teach things through my point of view, though I honestly thought I am not capable of nurturing others due to my nature.  
Turns out I was wrong.   
  
I might not emotionally care about others, but I do cognitively. Trying to invest in people again and learning how to trust really helped me find a place in this world, even though it takes a lot of work and energy.   
  
Amélie-san, I know you will be able to make a difference as well. Not the same way as I do, but I think you will become a better version of yourself with time.  
  
Don’t ever give up on it.   
  
Feelings aren’t the only thing that makes out a human being.   
Maybe you can show the world.   
  
I hope to have inspired you as Zenyatta inspired me.  
  
Good luck on your path,  
  
Genji_  


His message made her smile. This time, it was a genuine one.  
  
Genji resembled light. An ice-cold and calculating one that was irritating and intense.   
But this light shined on the path Amélie was going to take and it lead her the way.

Perhaps, she found a friend in someone who was like a mirror to her new self.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really love the parallels that exist between Genji and Widowmaker. Adding to my headcanon that Genji suffers from Anti-Social Personality Disorder (also known as sociopathy) through his upbringing and me wanting to write about how I think about Widow's recovery, I wanted to write about them talking about the things they share. Additionally, I do really love the idea that Genji becomes some sort of 'healer' as he gets older. A mentor, like Zenyatta was once for him so to say. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic, written by someone who actually does have diagnosed ASPD and wants to be a little educational about mental health things that are barely explored.


End file.
